


Please Wake me up

by ILoveMisha2



Series: The end [7]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Apocalypse, Hurt, Other, Supernatural - Freeform, The End
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-04
Updated: 2014-12-04
Packaged: 2018-02-28 04:09:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2718272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ILoveMisha2/pseuds/ILoveMisha2
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>the end yet again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Please Wake me up

**Author's Note:**

> this is part of 'The end' series although the only relation to each other it in fact 'the end' with a few exceptions such as your halo turned to dust. i will write in the notes if a story has an exact relation to another such as a companion piece.

I couldn’t save Dean no matter how hard I tried. I couldn’t pull him out of the world that infected his mind full of bombs, death, and heart ache.  
I wasn’t enough, even when I was right there with him, begging him, saying whatever I could to try to get the blank look off his face, to get a touch or a few words.  
I spent nights beside him, holding him while he screamed and writhed through nightmare after nightmare.  
At least he can still dream.  
I can’t and I wish to God that I could, so I could see what I used to. I couldn’t fix him.  
I tried so hard to get him back and bring him home. I tried so hard to get him to acknowledge anything, something.  
I only got a few words from him once that weren’t of direct orders or out of necessity, which were “I swear I’m killing you, Cas” and he was, but he was more important than me, some drugged out ex-angel.  
I tried to shake him out of that darkness he saw whenever he closed his eyes.  
I gave him all my warmth trying to restart his heart.  
He wouldn’t budge and it’s hell to sit and watch the one you loved so much and he you, the one you’d die for without question, break right in front of you till nothings left but an empty shell of what was.  
He still looks like Dean, and his voice sounds like Dean, but his thoughts aren’t Dean, his attitude isn’t Dean, and his touches aren’t Dean.  
He’s him but he’s not.  
I tried to comfort him with hugs and soft tentative touches in hopes to get at least a smile or a bit of color in his cheeks like I used to get.  
I tried to find a demon to sell my damned soul to.  
I tried to find a soul to sell to a demon.  
For five years I’ve watched him die as I tried to fix him with my love and devotion.  
Now he just sits in his cabin, giving orders, and he dies a little more each day on borrowed life because he’s already gone.  
I did not know it was possible for that to happen.  
God, I tried so damn hard.  
I was never enough, my “I love you” fell not on deaf ears but covered ones each time, my touches trailed down the map of his past without recognizing half the battle wounds with no way to mend them.  
I sit with him every night after I take my pills or whatever I have on hand, and hum to him endlessly.  
Sometimes I sing ‘Hey Jude’ as I pull my fingers through his hair, and sometimes I just talk to him, reminding him of who he once was and the light he once had.  
He hasn’t told me to leave or stop which I guess is progress because he used to kick me out without a second thought.  
I never get a response but I continue my routine of snuggling up to him and singing, talking, or just being there in hopes that I’ll get him back, that one day he’ll grace me with that smile I’ve missed.  
Or maybe he’ll hug me tight like before, or maybe, just maybe, I’ll see a flicker of light in his stone cold eyes.  
I’d even take a mumble or a sigh, anything.  
I won’t give up on him because he never gave up on me.  
Please, God, bring him back.  
Please?  



End file.
